


The Game Has Changed

by aurons_fan



Category: Tron (Movies)
Genre: Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 19:42:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17028816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurons_fan/pseuds/aurons_fan
Summary: Taking control over ENCOM was a little harder than Sam Flynn had anticipated. He focuses on repairing the Grid to relax, only to run into a mysterious Program from his past.





	The Game Has Changed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amethyst Shard (AmethystShard)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmethystShard/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide!! 
> 
> I love playing around in the Tron world, and I loved loved _loved_ your prompts. I hope I did justice to what you wanted and I hope you enjoy, giftee!

Taking back ENCOM was a lot easier to say than to do, Sam quickly realized.

One couldn’t just _declare_ Alan to be the Chairman of the Board and ease their way into the company like Sam had really wanted to. And Sam knew that -- his grades at Caltech before he dropped out easily showed that he wasn’t a complete moron -- but the amount of business jargon that was being thrown at him was enough to make his head spin.

Hurt.

Whatever.

Either way, Richard Mackey was sitting at one end of the massive conference room table and he, Alan, and his lawyers were on the other side. Anyone of any importance of the company was in this room, from the CFO, CMO, the rest of the board (and a bunch _more_ lawyers), so Sam needed to pay attention.

But he couldn’t keep checking his phone. He knew it was rude, but it was _so close to six_ , and he couldn’t be late again. Quorra would kill him.

Or wouldn’t - she would just be disappointed in him, and honestly, that was almost just as bad.

“Sam, we simply must talk offline and discuss this proposal so that the entire company can understand the synergy we are going for,” Stan, the CFO said. Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  “But…”

Sam stood, resisting the urge to slam his hands onto the table, and gave them all a weak smile. “I’m so sorry about all of this,” he said, pointedly looking across the room at Alan. Who, to his credit, only looked amused. “But I need to go… let my dog out. How about we reconvience at a later time?”

Stan looked annoyed. Sam’s lawyers looked annoyed. Richard Mackey looked like he was about to jump out of his skin. And Edward Dillinger, Jr., that little shit, just looked amused, like he couldn’t have planned this better himself.

Either way, no one was answering. Sam knew he didn’t need anyone’s permission (it basically was his fucking company, after all), but when he shot a quick glance at Alan, the man just sighed and waved a hand.

“We shall continue tomorrow, bright and early,” Alan said, standing. “Now, Sam, if you could--”

Sam barely caught that, running out of the door. He stopped by Alan’s office, where he’d been using as his own (mainly for his day-to-day things. They had been promising him an office any day now), and grabbed his coat, his keys, and his wallet. He was almost out the door when Alan appeared in the doorway.

Sam hesitated. Alan didn’t look pissed - the man never did, even when Sam probably deserved it -- but he looked exhausted, confused, and a tad bit frustrated. That was enough for Sam to pause, and slow his steps just a bit.

“You’ve been running out of the office every night,” Alan said, walking to his desk with a deliberate slowness. “This whole thing _was_ your idea. If you didn’t want to upend the company…”

“I know,” Sam said. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to formulate words. Alan turned back to him, half leaning on his desk, the epitome of patience. “I just… there’s something I need to finish. I _have_ to finish.”

Alan watched him curiously. “Does it have anything to do with the arcade?” He asked.

Sam didn’t grab at the computer chip around his neck, but it was a damn close thing. “It might,” he said.

With a sigh, Alan waved a hand, pushed himself off his desk, and rounded it. There was the distinct sound of glass clinking, and Alan stood, and poured himself a finger or two of brandy. Sam swallowed, forcing himself to stand up straight. Alan didn’t drink - or at least from what Sam saw, Alan rarely drank -  and Sam wasn’t all that proud of being what drove Alan to this.

“I’m not going to lecture you, but if you want to be taken seriously, you’re going to need to fully focus on this company,” Alan said, not looking up at Sam. “I’m also not saying being torn between two things was what ended up causing your father to disappear, but his dedication towards ...whatever he was working on at the Arcade meant his mind was never fully present.” After a beat, Alan looked up, making eye contact with Sam. “Don’t let the same happen to you.”

Sam forced himself to smile, gripping his keys even tighter in his hand. “Alan,” he said, his voice deliberately light. “Alan, don’t worry. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Alan hummed and turned back to his desk. Despite the overall politeness that Alan always gave off, Sam knew a dismissal when he saw one. Without another word, he turned and fled the office.

\--

Sam burst into arcade, where Quorra was leaning against an old game of Tron, out of all things. “You’re late,” she said. “You promised…”

“Geez, everyone’s on me today,” Sam muttered.

Quorra moved away from the game, and together they pushed the game out of the way to access the door. Quorra could’ve easily done it herself, but it made Sam feel almost necessary that she waited until he showed up to do so.

They descended the stairs, with Quorra sounding like she was reading off a checklist. Knowing how particular she was about everything, she might as well had been. “Sector 7 and 29 have been completed. Most of the programs have been resettling into their normal routine. But there have been some problems in sector 46.”

Sam had just started typing code onto the massive terminal in front of him and paused, looking up to her. “What do you mean, problems?” he echoed.

She scanned her tablet with a frown. “It seems that there were still a few people who believed in CLU’s vision, and aren’t the biggest fans of a User continuing to enter the Grid to make changes.”

He turned back to the terminal, trying and failing to not roll his eyes. “Do they not realize that I’m helping them rebuild their city? Something that would take possibly hundreds if not thousands of cycles to do without my help?”

There was no answer. Sam paused in typing, turning to look at Quorra, who was suspiciously looking everywhere except for him. He let out a sigh and she shrugged, clutching her tablet closer.

“It’s just… They’ve just gone through a bad experience with CLU, and the…” she hesitated, but before Sam could add anything, she added, “The creator, and you suddenly showing up probably is giving them bad memories. It should be fine, however. It’s not like any of them are strong enough to take a User down…”

He heard her, but his mind had already gone back to those last moments where he could see his father, before a bright white light engulfed both him and CLU, destroying everything around the Sea of Simulation. Sam took in a deep breath before turning back to the terminal again and typing in more code.

Quorra lay a hand onto his shoulder, and he gently shrugged her off, before giving her a wide, fake smile. “I’ll make sure to jump out of anything happens. Don’t worry Quorra. It’ll be fine and I’ll be back before you know it.”

The look she leveled at him spoke volumes, but he wasn’t going to analyze it. Not when he could lose himself into the Grid.

\--

Quorra had been right. While a majority of the sectors had slowly started repairing themselves (along with some of the code that he had worked on while in the outside world), there were a few sections that were in desperate need of repair. He was a fairly good coder, but there was something just so damn satisfying about just touching a building and watching it grow under his hands, instead of typing onto an 80’s terminal and hoping that he’d fixed up the right building.

The entire sector seemed to have an eerie dim light, from the Portal glowing down from afar and the lines that seemed to highlight most walkways and only a handful of buildings. Sam would need to fix the lighting situation before anything else, or else he would end up walking into something probably more dangerous than he anticipated.

He glanced around quickly, before kneeling down, pressing a hand to the ground. It was warm, almost as though it was alive, and he could see and feel it repairing itself, the code mending underneath.

Something shoved him, and he managed to stumble aside instead of completely fall on his ass. He climbed to his feet quickly, and turned to see a group of Programs approach him. The lines on their suits were still that dim orange light that CLU seemed to favor.

“Great,” Sam mumbled underneath his breath. “We’re really going to do this, are we?”

“Identify yourself, Program!” One of them shouted. The group tightened around Sam.

Three on one. Those weren’t the best odds, but Sam could _probably_ take them down in a fight. Or run. He was a fairly good sprinter when it called for it but this was going to be the last Sector he worked on before he left for the night.

So instead, he raised his fists and gave them a cocky smile. “Sure. Come on over if you really want to know.”

They all grabbed their identify disks and approached quickly. A part of Sam wished that he had just ran when he had a chance.

But before he could really even _think_ about fighting, there was a movement that was almost faster than he could parse together.

Sam blinked, and two of the three Programs were on the ground. Sam blinked again, trying to figure out what he had seem, and the third had joined them. None of them were moving, or even groaning in pain, and Sam took a few steps back. What had attacked? What was--

There was a flash again and Sam could feel a disk pressed up against his throat, and he looked up to see Rinzler pressing down onto him. Sam swallowed and tried in vain to reach for his disk, but something seemed to change in the air and Rinzler stepped back.

Sam rubbed at his throat. “Did you do this?” He asked, gesturing to the Programs on the ground. Rinzler didn’t move, still staring at Sam. It was completely unnerving. “Why?” Sam added.

Without another word, Rinzler turned and fled down one of the streets.

“Hey!” Sam called, and made a move to follow him. There was a faint beeping sound coming from his wrist, alerting him that his time was up for the night, unless he wanted to get trapped in the Grid when the Portal disappeared.  He turned back to where Rinzler had disappeared and grimaced.

He’d have to try again another day.

\--

Another day, another meeting, another boring argument between lawyers discussing all the ways that Sam’s plans couldn’t fully work. Sam was listening, really, he was, but after the fourth hour of Sam’s lawyers explaining that as the largest shareholder meant that Sam did actually have some sway in the company was getting quite tiring.

That and spending so much time in the Grid was beginning to get to him. Sam yawned again and rubbed a hand on his face.

“Is this boring you, Mr. Flynn?”

Sam shot up, and turned to glare at Richard Mackey. But Richard wasn’t looking at him; it hit Sam that it hadn’t been Richard’s voice that had spoken, either. Sam turned to see an amused Edward Dillinger, Jr. giving him a curious look.

“You didn’t think that _just because_ you proposed what you believed was a great idea that it would simply happen, right?” Dillinger, Jr. asked, leaning his face onto his hand. The entire room went silent, watching the two of them with rapt attention.

Sam snuck a glance over to Alan, who was the epitome of calm and was gently tapping his hands onto the table. Sam resisted wincing - that was one of Alan’s very few tells that he was straight up _pissed_.

“Now, if this is all _boring you_ , perhaps you could leave to… What was it last time? Feed your dog? Or the time before that, wash your bike?” Dillinger, Jr. shrugged, and leaned back into his seat. “And you could leave running this company to people who actually care about it.”

Sam gritted his teeth, and had enough comebacks that would make Dillinger, Jr.’s stupid glasses fly off his stupid face, but Alan continued drumming his hands onto the table. Sam forced himself to sit back. He wasn’t going to win this by having the best come back or by smacking Dillinger across the face, even if Sam really wanted to.

“Apologies,” Sam said, turning to his lawyer. “I was momentarily distracted. Might we continue?”

His lawyer sighed. Dillinger, Jr. grinned.

Sam tried to not let it bother him.

\--

That night, Sam was running through Sector 46 again, fixing code wherever he could. He wasn’t having a problem tonight with rouge Programs, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he had wished he could.

Quorra hadn’t been pleased that Sam had arrived so late (“I need my beauty sleep, Sam!”), and Sam had offered to stay in the Grid until morning. He wasn’t really… sure where he was going to stay once he was finished fixing up the Sector, but last time he’d been on the Grid for a while, he hadn’t really needed sleep. So hopefully that issue wouldn’t come into play.

Plus, the idea of heading back to his apartment and replaying that conversation with Edward Dillinger, Jr. in his head over and over and _over_ again was going to drive Sam insane. No -- better to actually get something done.

He was fixing a building, feeling the material rework underneath his fingers, when out of the corner of his eye he saw something move. His hand dropped, and without even realizing what he was doing, he ran after the figure.

Sam wouldn't even call it a chase. He turned a corner and the figure was gone. He grimaced and made to head back to the building he had been working on when he felt hands grab at his suit and shove him against the nearby building.

It was Rinzler again, with that blank mask covering his features. Sam wanted to shake him off but he couldn’t. Rinzler wasn’t gripping Sam tight enough that it hurt, but it was certainly tight enough that Sam knew that he meant business.

But then the Program didn’t say anything, and Sam cleared his throat. “Rinzler, wasn’t it?”

The whirring noises that came from Rinzler’s helmet were just on _this_ side of creepy, but Sam wasn’t going to let it affect him.

He swallowed, and tried again. “I didn’t get to thank you for saving my ass last time. So. Thanks.”

Rinzler continued to inspect him, but the grip on Sam’s arms lessened. Enough that he could actually feel the blood flowing through them again.

“And thanks for… your help in the fight against CLU,” Sam added. The pressure was completely gone, and Rinzler took a step back. Sam flexed his arms to get the feeling back. “You didn’t have to but thanks. You keep helping me, and I haven’t really been able to show my appreciation.”

Rinzler stared at him, or at least Sam assumed he was. The helmet didn’t betray any facial expressions, but it hadn’t moved, hadn’t turned to the side. Sam straightened up, brushing off his arms. There was nothing there, but he needed something to ground himself to now.

There was a flicker of light behind Sam. Rinzler reacted, looking behind him. Sam turned to see the Portal slowly flickering out. Even though he knew that it was coming, he felt his chest tighten.

“It’s fine,” he said, mostly to himself. “I have someone on the other side to get me out.”  Rinzler didn’t react, barely moved, and Sam nodded. “Alright. I’m going to go…” he nodded towards one of the buildings that was still in shambles. “Keep working, I suppose.”

He made to move when Rinzler grabbed his arm again, with none of the force that he had previously. “Users shouldn’t be out when the Portal is gone,” Rinzler said. Sam almost jumped out of his skin. He had half assumed that Rinzler just wouldn’t talk, and there was something about the Program’s voice that made Sam pause. He couldn’t place exactly why, but he knew it was going to bother him if he couldn’t figure it out.

Regardless, Sam shook him off. “Come on, man. I’ll be fine. Just a few more buildings and…”

There was a loud crash, and Sam turned to look back at it. Before he could pinpoint where it had come from, Rinzler grabbed Sam’s arm again. Sam looked back but Rinzler had started moving, half tugging Sam along behind him.

The noises continued behind him. While Sam hoped that the buildings he’d fixed weren’t affected, deep down, he knew that he wasn’t going to win any battles alone. So he swallowed his pride, turned, and continuing running alongside Rinzler.

\--

Where Rinzler led them to was almost as bad as the Sector that they had been in. Sam couldn’t even tell which Sector this was, but he could faintly hear the lapping of the Sea of Simulation in the distance. They must be close to the Portal.

The buildings here was almost all destroyed, with deep, jagged gashes where the blast from the Portal had ripped into them. Sam swallowed whatever emotion that threatened to bubble up and continued after Rinzler.

Strangely, even with the Sector even more damaged than the one they had been in, it was quieter. Which should have been more unnerving, but it was weirdly peaceful. Either way, Sam was definitely glad that Rinzler was walking beside him.

Rinzler stopped at a small building and after pressing his hand to the front door, opened it. Sam gave Rinzler a long look, but the Program didn’t seem to have any obvious malice in his movement. Sam inhaled, exhaled and quickly stepped into the building.

As soon as he did, the floors lit up beneath him, illuminating the entire space. It was small, probably smaller than the makeshift apartment he had himself, but there was barely anything in it. A bed off to the side, a table, and a chair or two around the table.

Rinzler approached the table as Sam continued looking around (because this surely couldn’t have been _it_ ), and there was a hissing noise. Sam turned to see Rinzler unlock his helmet and place it onto the table, before turning back to him.

Sam sucked in a breath.

No wonder that voice had sounded so familiar. No wonder Sam was completely thrown off. It was _Alan_ , if one shaved like four decades off of him and completely removed any emotion from behind his eyes. What the hell was _Alan_ doing here?

But then, almost all at once, it hit him. His father had said that back in the old system, Programs looked like the ones who had programmed them. So that wasn’t Alan… just…

“Tron?” Sam whispered, eyes widening even more.

No wonder the movement had seemed like something out of a memory - his father had told him enough stories about the hero of the Grid that even as a child, Sam could have described all of Tron’s movements to anyone curious. How had he not known? The dual disc wielding, the slick fighting stance… all of that was classic _Tron_.

Without even meaning to, Sam approached Tron, and cupped his face, staring into his eyes. Tron-- no, _Rinzler_ \-- stared back, expression empty.

Sam tried to wipe the horror out of his expression but he couldn’t. It was ...straight up horroying. His childhood hero, reduced to a goddamn puppet.

“What _happened_?” Sam asked, finally dropping his hands.

Rinzler took a step back, resting a hand onto the table. “There was the coup, and then CLU took over,” he said, voice clinical. “He had me rewired to assist in his plans.”

Sam watched him, waiting for Rinzler to continue, to express hatred, to do _anything_ , but the Program simply crossed his arms and watched Sam.

“And that’s it?” Sam finally said. “That’s all you have to say? You were rewired to help CLU and you attacked me and my father and _Quorra_ , and that’s all you have to say about it?”

Rinzler shrugged. It wasn’t even rude, just matter of fact. “The only thing that started to break through my programming was when we fought,” he said. “And then seeing the ...Creator,” Rinzler hesitated, and that was the first bit of actual emotion that was apparent in Rinzler’s expression this entire time. He closed his eyes and spoke again. “Seeing Kevin Flynn in danger… helped me to completely free me from my new programming.”

Sam watched him, but besides that one slight show of emotion, Rinzler’s expression stayed flat. It was unnerving. Sam resisted the urge to rub at chill traveling up his arms. “What did you mean, when we fought?”

Rinzler glanced up to him. “You bled. Only Users bleed.”

That was… not what Sam was expecting to be honest. “Well, either way, you’re _Tron_. Now that you’ve broken through the programming, you should be able to--”

“I am _not_ Tron,” Rinzler said, voice firm. Sam raised an eyebrow. “Tron was a hero on the grid. Tron was Kevin Flynn’s right hand man. Tron helped to try and build the Grid up to what it could have been. I am _Rinzler_. I have done nothing to help anyone.” He paused. “The only Program I have helped used me to hurt others, and I do not deserve to be compared to a Program with such… strength and compassion as Tron.”

With that, Rinzler stepped away, moving towards what looked like a small ice box. He knelt down, pulled something out of it, and approached the table, handing over a small vial filled with blue liquid. Sam eyed it with suspicion and Rinzler placed it onto the table.

“To help with your exhaustion, if there is any,” he said. He took a step back, and glanced towards the door. “I would advise against heading out again, due to the danger that can lurk on the streets. If you really wish to fight, I can--”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sam said. He approached Rinzler and resisted the urge to grab at his suit.

Rinzler let out a sigh. “As I was going to say, I can assist you if you truly with to fight--”

“Not about that!” Sam exclaimed. “That you’re not Tron. Just because CLU was a monster and messed with your code doesn’t mean you’re not Tron. And even if for some messed up reason you really think you’re _not_ , you still managed to break through that coding and help out me and my dad. Clearly, there’s some Tron left in you, whether you like it or not.”

Rinzler looked at Sam, his face still expressionless. “If you say so, User.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Just call my Sam alright? Or hell, Flynn is better than _User_. And I’m going to call you Tron until it sticks.”

The look that Rinzler (Tron. _Tron_ ) shot Sam almost chilled him to the bone. So there was emotion underneath that mask. It just took a trigger to activate it.

“I would _prefer_ you not call me that name,” Rinzler said. The calm in his voice was wavering. “As I said, I am _not_ \--”

“But you are!” Sam shot back. “Just because you don’t remember--”

“Exactly!” Rinzler shouted. Sam took a step back. Any trace of calm in Rinzler’s voice was completely gone. His expression showed a rage and frustrating that Sam hadn’t seem the Program elicit since the mask had been removed. “I don’t remember _being_ Tron! All I know was that he was damn near perfect -- he was amazing and incredible and the _savior_ of the Grid. CLU never let me forget. But just because you tell me I was him or even that I am him doesn’t make me him!” Rinzler clenched his hands into fists. “I may fight for the Users but that doesn’t give you all the right to make me someone I’m not!”

Sam deflated. “I just…” he began, stopping when he could clearly see the frustrating in Rinzler’s expression. “I just thought it would be better if you knew what kind of Program you used to be.”

Rinzler let out a breath. “I _know_ what type of Program Tron was. And I know what type of Program I, Rinzler, used to be while CLU had control over me. But I doubt I’ll ever be able to combine the two into one. I can’t… atone for what I did under CLU’s reign, but at the very least, I can help fellow programs rebuild what they lost.”

Sam nodded, lowering his head. He rubbed at his face. He didn’t quite realize how exhausted he was but there was just something about watching his childhood hero reacting like that made him want to just crawl into a ball and go to sleep. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have assumed that you’d… just remember everything, now that CLU was gone.”

There was a light scrape on the table and Sam looked up to see Rinzler pushing the vial closer to him. “Drink,” Rinzler said.

Without looking away, Sam uncorked the vial and took a swing of the blue liquid. It reacted almost immediately, and Sam let out a long sigh, feeling himself relax.

“The best thing I can do is help the Programs in this city,” Rinzler said, glancing back to Sam. “And if they don’t get their hopes up about some false icon like Tron, the better. They need to stand up and help build a city they’re proud to live in, not just one that has been molded by outside help.”

“Well,” Sam said, placing the vial back onto the table. “I’m sure a little help isn’t completely awful.”

And Rinzler glanced over to him, and gave him a faint smile. Sam could see Tron in that smile, could almost hear his father’s warm voice telling stories while looking at that smile. But Rinzler was not Tron despite being the same damn person.

Maybe one day he’d get there. And if he did, Sam wanted be beside him, helping him along the way. It was the least he could do.

Rinzler finally looked away. “I suppose a little help would be nice.”

\--

The next morning, or however many cycles made up a few hours (Sam was still getting used to calculating it), Rinzler and he approached the Portal as it glowed bright. Quorra had come through and had activated it once again.

Not as though Sam really wanted to head to work at ENCOM. But he knew he had to.

“Thanks again, you know, for all your help,” Sam said, turning back to Rinzler.

“Thank you, Son of Flynn,” Rinzler said, before pausing. “Sam. Thank you, Sam.”

Sam grinned, and waved, approaching the Portal. “I’ll be back in a bit. Keep an eye on the city for me?”

When there was no respond, he turned, and Rinzler had crossed his arms, watching. “I had been doing that previously. I didn’t believe I needed a User’s permission to do so.”

Sam grinned, and with that, disappeared into the Portal light.

When he finally blinked away the flashes in his vision that came with reappearing back in the real world, Quorra was staring over his code on the terminal. “You didn’t do much last night,” she said, with a frown. “Even with all that extra time. Did something happen?”

Sam stood, stretching out his arms. “Nah. Just… met an ally to help me out when I’m down there.”

A quick glance to his watch told him he didn’t have the time to explain right now, but he was definitely going to have to figure out a way to say something later. Quorra would not take that as a full explanation.

\--

A few hours later, Sam, Alan, and the rest of the executives at ENCOM were in another meeting, the same meeting that they had been doing for almost everyday these past few weeks. The lawyers droned on and Alan grew tense and Sam sighed.

He was also purposely ignoring Dillinger, Jr. as well.

Sam fidgeted, gently touching the chip, before looking up. “Is there a process that we can do that won’t interrupt the company workflow too badly?” He asked, cutting off one of the many lawyers. “I realize my entire request has been a little… unexpected, but all I want to do work within my father’s company. As the largest shareholder, I also want someone who cares more deeply about this company than anyone else in this room to be the one in charge of it. But, if that’s not possible, what would be the best course of action we should take?”

One could have heard a pin drop in the room. Sam looked between lawyers, executives, board members, (he continued ignoring Dillinger, Jr.), before finally glancing over to Alan. Alan, who was fighting the small smile that was trying to appear on his face.

And something about Alan’s face made Sam think about Rinzler and the determination that shined through despite everything. Sam had to look away before he said something.

One of the lawyers, a young woman with a high ponytail, let out a small cough and pushed forward a packet of papers. “This… would be the easiest transition. The one with the least effect on the employees.”

With a grin, Sam nodded. “Well then. Let’s see what you got.”


End file.
